


We Carry our Lives Around in our Memories

by MooncatEclipse (Wolfgrowl)



Series: Wondrous Tails Bingo Event [12]
Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Canonical Character Death, Discussion of Major Character Death, Gen, Major Spoilers for Heavensward and The Dark Knight 60-70 quests, Other, Past Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light, Title from an Oh Hellos Song
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-24
Updated: 2020-04-24
Packaged: 2021-03-01 22:20:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,271
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23814496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Wolfgrowl/pseuds/MooncatEclipse
Summary: Nijoh'ir Jesyho reflects on how he came to be here, and the path he yet must walk, and makes peace with the hero he has failed to be, as he seeks to fix a broken soul stone. In short, the 60 to 70 Dark Knight quests.
Series: Wondrous Tails Bingo Event [12]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1670677
Comments: 8
Kudos: 10





	We Carry our Lives Around in our Memories

**Author's Note:**

> For the Prompt: Job Quest
> 
> No one dies in this story but there is very much the discussion of character death. What would the Dark Knight Quests be without that?

“ _You’re a good person,_ ” Esteem says and something in Nijoh’ir cracks, something that’s long been breaking and he’s in Camp Dragonhead before he can register reaching for the Aetheryte.

He stumbles blindly through the snow, fighting back tears and grief to the monument, to his relief Francel is not there this time. No one is there to see him sink to his knees in the snow, fingers resting on the hole in a shield, and tears falling freely now.

It had tormented him, earlier, when Lowdry’d said he was a good person. That’s nice. The woman who’d poisoned him finally realized that maybe he was a decent person after all. Maybe.

It hadn’t been until he’d seen Esteem, until he’d heard the words that he’d figured out what he’d been chasing, what had been haunting him all this time.

_“I forgive you.”_

He hadn’t considered that the Heavens Ward might’ve had family and people to mourn them, that people would do anything other than cheer when he stood triumphant over their bodies –

_\- I will rip Ser Zepherin’s heart from his chest for what he’s done –_

\- joke was on him wasn’t it, in his quest for vengeance they lost Ysayle and Nijoh’ir had no time to – he would not have celebrated that victory but he might’ve found solace in it – before Estinien was lost to his own vengeance. No he hadn’t thought there was anyone to mourn them until he Myste spoke to this grieving girl, who cursed Nijoh’ir’s title even as she thanked him for the kindness of reuniting her with her cousin, Nijoh’ir unable to speak lest the bile rise from his throat.

He had not wanted their forgiveness, and some part of him wanted to resent the reminder that he left more grieving families in his wake than just those of the ones who stood behind him.

_“You are unharmed? Forgive me, I couldn’t bear the thought of…”_

He hadn’t realized why Haurchefant had begged his forgiveness with his dying breaths until standing outside of Tailfeather listening to a woman, Lowdry she’d said her name was, who’d poisoned him talk about her husband. Speak of things she couldn’t tell him, even though the figure before her was a lie, and something angry and raging, roaring almost bursts from his chest if not for the memory of Whitebrim, as he wonders how she could think it was fair that she was angry at him for coming back when her husband hadn’t. Ysayle hadn’t. Haurchefant hadn’t. Estinien almost hadn’t. The path Nijoh’ir walked may have been for peace but it was soaked in blood and left just as many bodies in its wake. And he’d done all of it for Haurchefant.

_“This was never your fight.”_

No, but it had been Haurchefant’s and he’d loved Ishgard and that had been enough for Nijoh’ir and he wonders if she realizes that he wishes he hadn’t come back. That Haurchefant hadn’t been so- does he? He looks to Myste and wonders, would he trade his life for Haurchefant’s.

 _Yes_ , a part of him says, but after a moment a calmer voice says, _no_.

Because this was never anything Nijoh’ir could’ve wished on him, the way he ached on truly bad days, the way he could barely stand to be in Camp Dragonhead or Fortemps manor, how he missed Haurchefant in sights, in sounds, in smells, how he’d forget to miss him until he’d remember that he’d never get to tell Haurchefant about his latest adventure. But he’s a good person. That’s nice.

_“Magnificent Nijoh’ir, Fray would be proud.”_

Somehow Nijoh’ir doubts that, he claims his aether and frets for Sid but the doubts seep in, lingering the way the images of those they have lost –

\- _Wilred, Moenbryda, Minfillia, Haurchefant, Ysayle, how many more will join them_ –

\- lingered as he and Myste stood at the edge and overlooked the Churning Mists. He remembers instead Fray’s words, “ _You are a hero to the realm… but you are no Dark Knight. For a Dark Knight accepts he cannot save everyone._ ” And he wonders how a hero is meant to. What did he fail to do, that he has this much blood on his hands, that the path behind him is littered with the corpses of those he called friends?

Would Fray be proud? He’s not sure. His aether is his though, and Myste is troubled. And Sid… Sid’s worse for wear and Nijoh’ir already longs for his company as they stand near Moghome, knowing that Myste isn’t done with him yet.

_"But if such things were possible, you wouldn’t have a broken shield, now would you?"_

Nijoh’ir stares at the shade of a man he once tried to save, ages ago, lifetimes ago, a kindness he barely remembers, that led to a pile of corpses at the foot of a wall and now a man wheezing his final breaths in a cave. He knows that if he could go back, he would not stop himself from offering aid when Meffid asks but he knows as well that if he could go back well then… would he need Myste at all? The boy’s trouble only grows as the shade grows weaker and he grows more frantic and Nijoh’ir and Esteem grow more resigned to what Myste cannot accept. They do not make it in time –

\- And when does Nijoh’ir ever? Always too late to stop, always too late to help, only in time to slay –

\- _serve… save… slave… slay… he is a weapon, a tool, and worst of all the hero and heroes do not get quiet lives and happy endings, they are not meant to, they are the sacrifice for everyone else’s_ –

\- _“warrior of light, weapon of light!”_ –

\- _“We did everything right and still it came to this!”_ –

\- and the man is lost, the shade is gone and Myste is distraught. Nijoh’ir offers what comforts he can for an inevitability he expected, Myste’s words growing more alarming before the boy disappears. Nijoh’ir looks for his familiar hair, his familiar eyes (doesn’t he always, in every crowd, despite knowing they will not be there) before he returns to Sid, to find him better, but not whole, and sharing his worry for Myste given he has apparently not returned.

_“Go back, go back, wrong way, he’ll kill Sid and Rielle if you don’t!”_

Once more Nijoh’ir arrives too late, Rielle collapsed, Sid’s wounds reopened, and an unfortunately familiar figure standing before them next to Myste. Rielle’s mother. Nijoh’ir shudders and bares his fangs, moving between Rielle and Sid, he will not let their blood be on his hands, they will not be next in the parade of souls lost by his blade, he will fall before that happens. And fall he nearly does, beset by the worst of what Myste can drag up, Ilberd, the Heavens Ward, the Warriors of Darkness-

\- Nijoh’ir still remembers the night in Thanlan, the night he watched a reflection of himself scream at Hydaelyn for the pointlessness of his sacrifice and realized that at some point, like them, like Minfillia, Hydaelyn would ask for his life as well, sure as he’d always been that one day his death would come at the hands of a primal –

\- And then Fray, no, Esteem, he sees his twin from Whitbrim, with blazing eyes, still lined with the paint that Nijoh’ir hasn’t worn in moons, the paint to Menphina, the declared the hunt, that declared he did not fear death while he stalked his prey –

\- he still doesn’t but he fears who might die next for him, or because of him, who Zenos might kill to goad him into the fight he so desperately wants –

\- and Sid offers his sword and Nijoh’ir triumphs, but it does not feel like a victory any more than it had to stand over the corpses of the Heavens Ward, any more than it has in the long war since, –

\- _“to be honest, Alphy, it’s not my war.”_ –

\- not in Gyr Abania, not in Doma, not the Nadaam, Nijoh’ir sinks his blade into the sand with the pained cry he’d made at the vault, a howl, a roar, a scream, and Esteem and Myste look to him with understanding and grief as he sinks to his knees, forehead resting on the hilt, before Esteem says the only words that can end this misery.

_“I forgive you”._

_I forgive you._

And Nijoh’ir is a good person, and he is a hero, and now, now that he knows what it is he’s been looking for (forgiveness, but not from the families of those who stood before him, not from those he failed, not from Sid for taking Fray’s spot and not from those who he was not enough for,) he can stand, lighter, his aether his once more, and Sid and Rielle look at him in concern but he offers a smile, as after all he is a hero and a smile better suits, and he tells them they’re going home.

_“Do you recall how we came to this place?”_

The true beginning is the Gates of Judgement, Midgardsormr beside him with a cryptic warning of corruption and death, a warning proven far too true; or a staircase in the Brume that always feels colder than the rest of the city (no small feat) to Nijoh’ir even though there’s been no body there since long before the war ended. But Nijoh’ir follows Sid’s advice, returning to the spot where they met Myste. He knows why the soul crystal cracked here, the way his heart cracks every time he sees the manor, though it doesn’t this time. It still hurts, and probably always will, but hurts less.

Count Edmont’s company is not unwelcome, though Nijoh’ir wishes he could tell him what’s he’s come to understand in this whole twisted journey, that smiles better suit but heroes don’t get to truly be happy, that neither he nor Haurchefant could’ve ever lived the domestic life, they simply weren’t made for it, but he sees in the way Edmont looks at him, the familiar grief, that he knows that just as his son was taken too soon, so will Nijoh’ir, and that is the fate given him when Hydaelyn chose him to be her champion.

He watches Edmont go, grateful for an invitation he will never take enough times, and stands there a moment longer, accepting. Accepting that Fortemps Manor was never meant to be where he stayed.

 _“For your destiny leads you elsewhere, for you are still a hero. You are still a good person.”_ Esteems says and the soul stone is whole but Nijoh’ir is not.

And that’s how he’s come to be sobbing in front of Haurchefant’s grave, finally taking his chance to grieve for the man he loved, loves and probably always will, for the life they will never have, and finally letting himself face the truth.

Myste, and his desperation, Nijoh’ir’s own desperation, to save everyone, will be their death someday, and he and Esteem accept that, his anger for being made to be a hero, made to bear this alone, forgives the part of him that could never give up trying to help. Naive, idealistic, and deeply empathetic. And now, he faces the truth, eyes unclouded, mind cleared of the anger and grief.

_“I forgive you.”_

He’d raged against the Heavens Ward, Ser Zepherin, but in truth, he’d known all along where the guilt for Haurchefant’s death lay. Not with Haurchefant either, however he might’ve tried to take that burden, but in truth, with Nijoh’ir.

_“I forgive you.”_

The cold bites at his cheeks and he rubs them to remove the tears before they can freeze to his skin, the anger, the open, festering wound he’s carried since that day is finally closed, and it feels… strange. Like how having his aether back does, and he’ll poke at it in the future, but he’s… not whole but mended. He’s forgiven himself and accepted his guilt.

He traces the hole in the shield again before letting his hand drop. He sits back on his heels to look at the stone, and wonders if Haurchefant can hear him.

“I love you,” he starts with, and a smile flickers across his face, “I know you know but you like hearing it, I know you do. And I’m sorry. For… a lot of things. For this. For not smiling like you asked me too. It just, you saw the best in me, you always did, and I lost sight of it for a bit there.” He lets out a rough breath, “gods, if I could have one thing it would’ve been a life with you.” He shivers, the cold slipping through his armor, sinking into his skin, he coughs to help ease his rough voice, “and I- gods I don’t think I’ll ever stop loving you. Or missing you.” He rises to his feet, fighting against his chattering teeth to finish this, “but I think I can finally smile like you wanted me to. Be the hero you thought I was, again.”

He feels Myste and Esteem stir, the grief and anger and the loss of something, the cost of being a hero, but their acceptance and his own. He takes a deep breath and smiles, his eyes drier now and finishes, “I know I said it before but, I love you.” He considers, an I’m sorry but knows that Haurchefant wouldn’t want that from him, instead he leaves it at that, offering one last smile before he steps back, wandering away before he teleports to somewhere warmer, to prepare to be a hero once more.

**Author's Note:**

> The song the title comes from is Cold is the Night by the Oh Hellos, and honestly the whole song very much fits for Nijoh'ir for this fic, I highly recommend it.


End file.
